


Blood Dripping On The Floor

by Elton_Hercules_John



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, Hemophobia, M/M, Mild Gore, Nosebleed, Poor Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 17:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elton_Hercules_John/pseuds/Elton_Hercules_John
Summary: Greg gets beaten up on a drugs bust. Mycroft has to fight through his phobia of blood in order to fix Greg's broken nose.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 13
Kudos: 95
Collections: Mystrade Sickfics / Hurt-Comfort Collection





	Blood Dripping On The Floor

It had started with a drugs bust, surprisingly unrelated to Sherlock. 

Greg had been put in charge of running the bust. It was a straightforward one, really. They knew there was weed in the attic, they knew that before even entering the property. They used the big red key on the reinforced front door, and then it was a scramble to get into the house as the army of officers screamed "POLICE!" 

What they hadn't expected was for the occupants of the house to be so hostile. Greg had taken a beating from the dealer that lived there, and another officer had been shanked. Thankfully, the worst injuries on Greg were bumps and bruises and a broken nose. 

After the bust, Greg went straight home, wanting nothing more than a long soak in their new bathtub. It was massive, white, with jet streams that worked wonders on the knots in his back. Mycroft had had it installed straight after reading Greg's notes from a physiotherapy appointment. He didn't let on that he, too, loved it after a long day of meetings. 

Once he had parked up in front of Mycroft's 'modest' home, he rung the doorbell, expecting one of the cleaners to let him in. He didn't expect Mycroft to come to the door, dressed in beige slacks and a white shirt, covered by a navy blue cashmere jumper. "Gregory?" 

"Oh! Hey, babe. Didn't expect you home till later, uhhh…" Greg had slightly short circuited at the sight of Mycroft in casual-wear. He should be used to it by now, but every time Mycroft dressed like a normal human being, it threw Greg for a loop. "Yeah. Gonna let me in."

"I decided to work from home after lunch, since I didn't… Have… Any… Meetings." Mycroft was staring straight at him, a stare that told Greg that his mind was working a million miles per minute. He hated when the Holmes brothers went silent, it was never a good sign. 

"Everything alright, luv?" Greg frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was still standing outside the house, getting kind of cold with the early January winds.

"Um… Yes. Yes. It's- Gregory- I-" Mycroft stumbled over his words, his eyes darting over Greg's face. "It's just- My dear, your nose is bleeding… It's quite, ah, off-putting." 

"Shit. Sorry." Greg touched his philtrum. Yeah, there was definitely blood there. "Got in a fight at work, went straight home. Wanted to use the bath. Didn't realise it was bleeding." He muttered, bringing his sleeve up to his nose to stop the blood from dripping everywhere. 

"No, it's- it's just started. I-" Mycroft had gone positively green. "Come in, we'll get it sorted. It's just a small nosebleed. Just… Just a small nosebleed." He mumbled, seeming to soothe himself more than Greg. 

"S'alright. I'll just get some toilet paper, block it up, make sure I don't bleed on anything too expensive." Greg tried to joke, giving a hard sniff. He saw Mycroft physically shudder at the sniff as he was lead through to the kitchen. 

"Sit, Gregory. Chair. Now." Mycroft commanded, not unlike how one would tell a dog. While Greg got comfy on a seat by the breakfast bar, Mycroft reached up into the top of one of the kitchen cabinets, carefully bringing down the first aid kit. "Are there any other injuries I should know about? Bruises, breaks, cuts… That sort of stuff." Mycroft tried to sound nonchalant as he pulled off his jumper, not wishing to dirty the expensive wool, and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, his back to Greg. 

"Eh…" Greg sniffed again. Mycroft shuddered again. "Just a bit bumped up overall. Didn't hit my head, didn't get stabbed. Colleague did, though. Poor bugger." 

"Your nose is the worst injury on your person?" Mycroft walked over to the breakfast bar, placing the kit down beside Greg before lightly holding Greg's face in his gloved fingertips. "Take your sleeve away. Let me assess the damage." 

Greg carefully pulled his arm away from his nose with a slight grimace, seeing how bloody his sleeve was. Mycroft had paled considerably, and took a deep and shaky breath before grabbing a cotton ball and holding it to Greg's nose. He looked away, still attempting to take deep breaths. 

"You alright, babe?"

"Yes, I… I am perfectly fine, thank you." Mycroft swallowed roughly, tipping Greg's head forward. "Keep that there while I make up an ice pack. The ice will constrict the capillaries and veins within your nose and help stop the bleeding."

"Luv?" Greg called softly, his voice slightly altered from his position and the fact that he was holding a cotton ball against his nose. "Gonna ask you something. Answer me truthfully, alright?" 

"Now is not the time to propose, Gregory." Mycroft muttered, purposefully keeping his back to Greg as he placed some ice in a bag, then wrapped it in a towel. 

"Nah, it ain't that. Just… You scared of blood, Myc?" 

Mycroft paused. "Don't speak such nonsense, dear. Why would I be scared of…" As he turned to hand Greg the ice pack, a particularly nasty clot dropped from Greg's nose and onto the sparkling white floor tiles. In an instant, Mycroft had rushed to the sink and gagged into it, though nothing came up. 

"So, you are? Sorry 'bout the floor, by the way. I'll clean that up once my nose stops bleeding." Greg moved his foot, covering the splatter of blood with it. "Never thought you'd be scared of a little blood, babe." 

"It is-" Mycroft swallowed heavily, as if he was trying to force his lunch back down. He couldn't look at Greg, not now. "It is simply evolutionary, Gregory. It's silly not to be scared of blood." 

"I'm scared of balloons, babe. You're not alone in weird phobias." Greg tried to soothe. "Want me to deal with this on my own? If it's making you sick, just go up to your office for a little bit. I'll call you down when everything's fixed and clean." 

"No, I need to help you. You would do the same if I was sitting there, bleeding." Mycroft picked up the ice pack, playing with it in his hands for a moment before chancing a glance up at Greg. There was a small pile of bloody cotton balls beside him now. 

"Babe, I'm gonna have to click my nose back into place. I don't want you doing it, cause it'll probably traumatise you for life." Greg said as he picked up yet another cotton ball, chucked another blood-soaked one in the pile. "Cause it ain't gonna stop bleeding on its own." 

"I can do it." Mycroft said in a surprisingly brave voice, even though his brain was screaming at him to get as far away from Greg and his pile of bloody cotton balls as possible. "I'll do it. Let me do it." 

"Eh… Alright." Greg frowned. Carefully, Mycroft approached. His face was pale and clammy, his hands teemoring. Greg had never seen Mycroft look so scared before. Lightly, he touched Greg's nose, his thumb running over the bump where it had been broken for just a moment, figuring out his next plan of attack. His eyes scanned over Greg's face, mapping out every single millimetre, deciding exactly what amount of force and angle he had to place on Greg's nose to click it back into place. He took a steadying breath, grounding himself for just a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut and… 

Crack! 

"Oh, good lord, I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick, Gregory, I'm so sorry!" Mycroft pressed his hand to his mouth, making a quick exit out of the kitchen and to the bathroom under the stairs. Greg winced at the sound of retching and heaving, but took the time away from Mycroft to check his nose in the reflection of the glass oven door. It was back in place, and the bleeding seemed to be stopping. Good lad. 

Two minutes later, the toilet in the downstairs bathroom flushed, the taps at the sink ran for a good minute (Mycroft was no doubt scrubbing his hands and mouth clean), and Mycroft exited the bathroom as if nothing had happened. "How are you feeling?" 

"Could ask the same about you, luv. You were the one that just spewed." Greg chuckled, dabbing at the dried blood on his upper lip with a wet cloth. "My nose is fine. You alright?" 

"I… Have been better." Mycroft admitted quietly, lightly dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his pocket handkerchief. "My deepest apologies for that sudden… Outburst. I am normally quite good at controlling it, but that was such a- a grotesque sound, I simply could not help my body's natural reaction to it." 

"Nah, it's alright. I understand." Greg shrugged, finally putting the mountain of cotton balls in the bin and wiping up the blood splatters from the floor. 

"You… Do understand that I would like that shirt incinerated, too, yes? Just… That blood stain will never come out on its own, and… Well, whenever I look at the shirt it will always make me feel unwell, so I was wondering…" Mycroft trailed off, staring at the floor. 

"Yeah, s'fine, burn it, whatever." Greg shrugged. "It was getting too tight on me, anyways. All that posh food you've been treating me to goes straight to my gut." 

"Thank you, Gregory… I'll take you down to Saville Row and get you a new one tomorrow, my darling." Now that Greg was completely clean, Mycroft leaned in and lightly pecked his lips. He tried to ignore the slight metallic taste to Greg's lips. "Now… You were saying earlier about the bathtub?" 

"Shit, yeah. I've been thinking about those jet streams ever since I raided that house." Greg groaned in pleasure just thinking about the massaging powers of the tub. 

"Shall I run you a bath, then? I believe you are in need of one after your clearly traumatic day." Mycroft tutted in an almost motherly way. 

"Yeah, that would be great. As long as you promise to get in it with me." Greg winked, unbuttoning his shirt and chucking it in the wash basket, even though it was going to be burned eventually. 

"Now, Gregory, it is barely-" 

"Ah, ah. Don't. I did the maths, babe. It is big enough for the both of us." Greg flashed Mycroft a massive grin as he toed off his shoes, wriggling out of his trousers until he was standing in just his underwear in the kitchen. Mycroft made a mental note to burn those pants, too. They were so ratty and horrible, they couldn't possibly be comfortable… 

"Fine. I shall get in the bathtub with you." Mycroft paused. "So long as you promise to throw out all your underwear and let me buy you new ones tomorrow." 

"Alright, love. I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and shares are always appreciated! Come chat to me @mycroft-percival-holmes on tumblr ❤️


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